


Chills

by peterparkr



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Well he tries, Whump, febuwhump 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparkr/pseuds/peterparkr
Summary: Peter wakes up with a fever. Tony does his best. (Febuwhump Day 2: Fever)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620064
Comments: 17
Kudos: 296





	Chills

Peter wakes up sticky. 

It’s not an unusual sensation for him. In the first few days after the spider bite, he woke up stuck to his sheets. He would thrash around for what felt like hours, but it always just made him more tangled.

This is slightly different. The sheets around him are soaked with sweat, and Peter feels it clinging to him, too, a thin layer over his skin.

It’s sticky and gross.

And cold.

He shivers, and then he can’t seem to stop. No matter how tight he pulls the sheets and comforter around him or how much he curls himself into a ball, he doesn’t stop shaking.

He needs another blanket. May always puts some in the top of his closet.

He props himself up, every muscle aching, and takes one of his arms out from under the covers. The loss of heat is so profound that he quickly shoves it back under.

He decides that walking to the closet with the covers wrapped around him is the best course of action. 

When he sits up straighter to do so, his head pounds and his vision swims. He collapses back against the pillows, breathing heavily.

It takes a few seconds for the resonating pounds to dull into a more manageable light throb and then he bats a hand toward the sheets that had fallen down in his movement. He groans as he pulls them back up and tucks them around his shoulders.

He doesn’t want to disturb May, so he resigns himself to a long night. He can handle it. He’s Spider-Man for god’s sake.

He rolls over, tries to sleep, but then his teeth start to chatter. The motion is jarring and makes his head hurt more than before—sharp stabbing sensations whenever his teeth grind together. He’s sort of afraid that he’ll throw up if he opens his eyes. He’s sort of afraid he’ll throw up even if he doesn’t.

“May?”

There’s no way she’ll hear him. His voice is weak and raspy, swallowed up by the night air.

He tries again. “May?”

“Are you in need of assistance, Mr. Parker?”

Peter forces himself to open one eye. Sure enough, when he focuses on it, he can see that the room around him is the one that he sleeps in when he stays at the tower, not his bedroom at his apartment.

“No, never mind. Sorry, FRIDAY.”

“Are you sure? I’m reading unusually high heat signatures from your location.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbles.

Peter places one of his hands on his head. He’s not sure which is hot and which is cold or if either of them is either, but it feels good.

The relief only lasts for a moment and he’s back to an achy, trembling mess. He clenches his jaw and tenses every muscle to try to stop the chattering and shaking.

It doesn’t work. He’s so tired. He just wants to feel _warm_.

Tears start to form in his eyes. He should be embarrassed about it, but he’s too sick to care.

“FRIDAY? Could you get Mr. Stark?”

“Of course, Mr. Parker.”

* * *

“FRIDAY woke me up out of sound sleep. I don’t get that very often, kid. This better be good.”

Peter blinks a few times. There’s a dark, blurry shape in the doorway. It must be Tony.

“Sorry,” Peter croaks.

“Lights, Fri.”

The room illuminates. Peter snaps his eyes shut.

“Turn ‘em down a little.”

Peter chances opening his eyes again, and the light is less glaring, more dim.

Tony takes a few cautious steps into the room. “What’s happening right now?”

Another pang of pain slices through Peter's head, sending his stomach rolling with it. He curls one hand over his stomach and brings the other up to his head. "Might throw up."

Tony retreats a step. "Oh—please don't. Um. Are you really?"

"D'know," Peter mutters.

Tony taps his fingers on his opposite hand. "Do you—should I get something?"

What Peter really wants is a blanket, but the rational part of him that’s still just barely clinging on to existence tells him that bringing the fever down is the better choice. “Could you get me some ibuprofen?”

“Um.” Tony looks at him like he's the most perplexing thing he’s laid eyes on. Peter’s seen him studying alien tech with more certainty. “Okay.”

Peter closes his eyes again. It feels like Tony’s gone for longer than it should take to grab medicine, but maybe Peter’s perception of time is skewed.

He doesn’t notice when Tony enters the room. Suddenly, he’s right next to Peter’s bed.

“Here,” he says, holding out two pills. “It’s not ibuprofen. It’s—these painkillers were made for Steve. I just ran a comparison of your metabolisms and they should work for you too.”

Peter takes the pills with one hand and reaches out for the accompanying glass of water with the other. Tony stares at the empty hand and then at the pills and then at Peter.

“Shit, water. Right.”

Peter takes his empty hand out of the air. “Oh—I can just swallow it dry?”

“No, no—I’ll be right back.”

He’s back quicker this time, shoving the glass of water at Peter so fast that some of it sloshes over the sides. Tony frowns down at the spilled water on the sheets and apologizes. It’s kind of funny. Peter might laugh about it later when he doesn’t feel like he’s on the verge of passing out. 

He can’t exactly swallow the pills while lying down, so he struggles into a semi-sitting position. It’s mortifying to watch Tony watch him do it. There’s something like horror on his face. One of his hands twitches out as if he's going to help, but then it falls back to his side.

Peter swallows the pills—his stomach thankfully only rebelling slightly against the influx of water. He holds up the glass and Tony takes it between his index finger and thumb with some apprehension before quickly setting it down on the bedside table.

“Are you—sick?”

He shrugs and settles deeper into the covers. He can’t wait for the painkillers to kick in—maybe he’ll stop shaking and his teeth will stop chattering, then hopefully, his head and stomach will feel better too.

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “Do you, uh, need anything else? Should I call your aunt?”

“I’m good—just going to sleep, I think. Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s a devastating loss, but I’ll get over it,” Tony says, but then grimaces, as if he wishes he hadn’t. “Just let FRIDAY know if you need anything.”

The child in Peter’s brain, that seems to have been summoned by his feverish state, starts to throw a tantrum at the sight of Tony leaving the room when he’s still so cold. “Actually—“

Tony turns around immediately. 

“Do you have any blankets?”

“Blankets,” he repeats. Peter feels like he can see the gears moving in Tony’s head. “Yes. I can do that.”

He comes back with a whole stack, so high in his arms that Peter can just barely see his eyes over the top of it.

Peter bites back a smile. “That’s a lot of blankets, Mr. Stark.”

“You shouldn’t use all of them because we don’t want to raise your temperature more. But I wasn’t sure which one you would want—seems ridiculous now. They’re just blankets.” 

All of the sickly feelings are starting to take a backseat to the pleasure of watching the usually competent Tony Stark make a bit of a fool of himself. It's an enlightening experience.

“Since I brought them all—do you have a preference?”

“I’ll take the Iron Man one,” Peter replies.

It’s folded in the middle of the stack, but Peter can see a red metallic hand, palm up, repulsor glowing.

Tony shoots him a glare. “Even sick, you’re a menace.

He removes it from the stack. When it unfolds, Peter realizes that it’s even better than he imagined. It’s definitely a gag-gift, the Iron Man suit is plummeting through the air. The mouth of the face plate is a shocked ‘o’ rather than the usual stoic expression.

“Look at you go,” he comments.

“Careful, kid, you’ll be better soon enough and then I’ll have no reservations about taking you out.”

Peter huffs out a laugh.

Tony holds out the blanket, but doesn’t seem to know what to do from there. “Do you want me to, uh, cover you?”

Peter nods. 

Tony shakes out the blanket a few times to unfold it completely and then lets it fall down over Peter. He takes a step back as if assessing his work. 

Peter barely manages to keep a straight face through it all.

“Is that better?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Great. Good.” He swings his arms back and forth and claps them lightly. “Is there—anything else?”

Peter shakes his head and pulls the Iron Man blanket up over his chin. He closes his eyes.

"Well, don't die, alright? It wouldn't be a good look for me—all things considered."

"Don't think I'm dying," Peter murmurs into the blanket. It's nice and warm. The chills are starting to subside.

"Well let me know if that changes."

Peter hums. He can feel the edges of sleep finally creeping up around him.

“Feel better,” Tony whispers.

Peter hears the door close.

* * *

When he wakes up in the morning, the sheets are still sweaty, but he’s no longer shaking. He still feels off—when he stands, his vision black out for a few seconds. But, he’s just happy that he _can_ stand, because he’s famished—his enhanced body always needs more food when it’s busy healing up an injury or staving off illnesses.

“Good morning, Mr. Parker,” FRIDAY says. “Feeling better?”

“A little bit, thanks.”

Peter crosses the room and opens the door. He takes a step out and then stops abruptly.

Tony’s on the floor, slouched against the wall, snoring softly. Peter smiles and tiptoes past him to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> I just don't think homecoming era Tony would be a competent caretaker.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](https://peterparkrr.tumblr.com)


End file.
